Diarmaid MacCulloch’s All Things Made New (2016) is a curious beast—not a straightforward history of the Reformation but a collection of essays that dive into its nooks and crannies, with a heavy tilt toward Anglicanism’s peculiar evolution. As a scholar of the Reformation, MacCulloch’s erudition is undeniable, but his liberal, almost postmodern lens shapes this work into something more akin to a treatise on fluid, self-defined Anglican identity than a balanced historical survey. While the book offers sharp insights and a fresh, forensic reading of Richard Hooker that explodes 19th-century myths, readers must approach it with eyes wide open to its biases—and its missed opportunity to move from historian to affirmative apologist.
The introduction sets a bold tone, framing the Reformation not as a return to early church purity but as an unintended revolutionary spark that birthed the Enlightenment’s love of individual doubt. MacCulloch is openly critical of conservatives who cling to scriptural inerrancy or the notion of one true church, favoring instead the Enlightenment’s rationalism, which he credits for triumphs like abolitionism. This feels like a smug oversimplification, ignoring the deep biblical convictions of figures like Wilberforce. His take on Orthodoxy’s lack of Reformation or Enlightenment—blamed on historical pressures like Ottoman rule or, oddly, Putin’s influence—implies they’re lagging behind the West’s progressive arc. Yet, as he concedes but frames negatively, the Orthodox may not have needed a Reformation, having preserved early church traditions without Rome’s centralized grip.
The book’s structure—essays on topics like angels, Marian devotion, and the English Reformation—avoids a linear narrative, prioritizing specific figures and themes over a cohesive story. The continental Reformation gets a brisk 84 pages (Wittenberg, Zurich, Geneva, Trent), mostly to highlight struggles with Anabaptism and Romanism, tolerating extra-biblical elements like the Trinity or Mary’s virginity as acceptable descriptions. These synthesize into the Elizabethan Articles’ flexibility (6, 20, 21): only doctrines necessary for salvation, derived from scripture, are required; councils may err. MacCulloch doesn’t spell this out as a “limited infallibility,” but it’s the hinge—to be Anglican is to affirm the essentials and respect tradition without being shackled to it.
The English reformation chapters, the bulk of the book, retread gaps from MacCulloch’s earlier works (The Boy King Edward, Cranmer), stressing Tyndale’s Lollard-influenced continuity (90% of the KJV) and Cranmer’s Eucharistic evolution from Lutheran caution to full Reformed clarity. The Prayer Book’s volatility—1549 sparking rebellion, 1552 radical, 1662 a post-war imposition—underscores contention until Restoration conformity. The real payload is the longest, most original chapter on Thomas Hooker. In his day a mainstream Reformed Anglican, Hooker defended episcopacy as Erastian governance, not jure divino; downplayed predestination; and sourced political authority in the multitude (contractarian, Romans 13 as general grant). His natural law hierarchy (scripture > reason > tradition) offends three-legged-stool myths. Unfinished and turgid, Ecclesiastical Polity became cherry-pickable—Whigs for consent, Laudians for hierarchy, Tractarians for “judicious” moderation. MacCulloch’s thesis: the via media wasn’t Catholic-Protestant synthesis but dynamic wrangling within Reformed ranks, spawning sects (Methodism, Baptists, Quakers). “Anglicanism” itself was a 17th-century slur, crystallized in the 19th via Laudian/Jacobite/Oxford revisionism that obscured Erastian, scripture-first roots.
MacCulloch mourns the eviction of evangelicals/Methodists (Catholics less so, given their revisionist heft) as truncating pluralism, but never delivers the affirmative manifesto his intro/conclusion tease. He shows the scaffolding—Chalcedon as contingency, Calvin as “fifth doctor”—then walks away. The effect dismantles the “three creeds, four councils, via media” package into historical accident, leaving a method, not monument: scripture alone binds, order pragmatic, conscience free.
Since publication, global fractures worsen: Canterbury’s humanist ecumenism (inspiring/balking progressives) forges GAFCON/ACNA’s confessional retrenchment. Both are post-Hooker accomodations—amounting to “Orthodoxy-lite” or “Episcopal Calvinism” freezing at 1662/1552 snapshots. MacCulloch’s fluid Anglicanism aligns with Canterbury’s drift but seems disconnected from the Global South’s growth, underestimating traditional resilience in non-Western modernity.
All Things Made New is capable, provocative scholarship—rich in detail, witty in myth-busting—but no neutral history. It’s a love letter to a liberal, argumentative Anglicanism that may not survive the Communion’s divides. MacCulloch hands you a wrecking ball and dares rebuild, yet refuses to preach the blueprint.